


Bite.

by fortunate



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Hurt Will Graham, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Pre-Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Romantic Stitching, Serial Killer Will Graham, Short One Shot, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25472341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunate/pseuds/fortunate
Summary: Will tries to hold him, but feels the pull of stitches stopping him from rising his left arm. He curses, Hannibal turns around. He doesn’t smile with his mouth, but his eyes have a glint to them.Will wants to–He wants to bite him._____________________________________________________________Or, Hannibal tends to Will's wounds.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 137





	Bite.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Naka-Choko scene where Hannibal heals Will's hands and Mitski's "I Will".  
> I have zero medical knowledge. Also, I wasn't sure about which warnings to add but this is Bloody? 
> 
> Special thanks to my beta readers, Kaleb and Mhaz! I don't know if I would've had the courage to post this without them.

Will feels drained in a way that is strikingly similar to the way he feels after an orgasm. Drained, but fulfilled. But just as he recognizes that thought, he collapses on the dirt. He feels no pain, but that’s just shock. He might not be able to move for days, the metallic smell of blood will stay in his hair longer than it will Hannibal’s, blood has a way of sticking to his curls. 

In his dazed, wounded state, Will feels himself being lifted up gently. He also feels himself _spilling_ onto Hannibal. Blood over the fabric, creating a sticky, warm layer that cools as time passes. He’s not sure how long it’s been when he feels himself being put down on a cool surface. Hannibal gently touches his face, keeping his hair out of his eyes, before he puts on his gloves and gets to work. 

He cleans his wounds gently. Will has never known such kindness– his father gave him bandaids to put on himself, he’s always seemed to score absent-minded nurses. But Hannibal does a thorough, gentle job. Will finds himself mumbling about it, but he doesn’t get to look at the Doctor’s reaction. 

Still, Hannibal tries to hide his grin as he teasingly pokes the same wound. Will doesn’t feel the jolt, but he looks at the blood and closes his eyes as Hannibal cleans it anew. 

Stitching is harder to romanticize.

But Will manages to, otherwise, it would be just him and the pain. He thinks of boat motors, his imagination helping him see his body as a sturdy motor, but the image is too weak to stick. Instead, he focuses on the other sensations in his skin. 

The moisture of the blood, the stickiness of it. The crust it’s left. He tries to feel the needle’s texture when it punctures, but he doesn’t manage to feel anything past the sting. 

Will pictures his own skin up close; textured, torn, freckled. He pictures the ruptures coming together. He tries to picture what Hannibal is doing, he tries to see himself as him. He thinks about how Hannibal is mending like he’s never pulled him apart before.

_My compassion to you is inconvenient, Will_ , he remembers Hannibal saying, not too long ago, just as his surgeon finishes the stitch, just as the wound learns to hide. 

Hannibal continues to stitch his wounds. Even some Will hadn’t yet thought about; despite their size, he was mostly focused on the ones that might be life-threatening. Hannibal cleans them just as lovingly, the sharp sting of the stitches starts feeling methodical, and Will almost ache for the soft pull his skin will make, when skin meets skin. 

When Hannibal finishes, Will has his eyes closed. His short breaths whenever the needle entered his body betrayed his state, but Will doesn’t open his eyes as Hannibal traces a gloved finger along with his stitch work. A slight pain passes under his wounds at the pressure, and all Will can think of is how he wishes Hannibal would do it without his gloves on.

Will thinks of the future. He thinks of these wounds becoming scars, and he thinks of Hannibal’s veiny fingers tracking them, finding shapes. He thinks of them being discreetly added to sketches on Hannibal’s notebook. He thinks of Hannibal scratching those that he can’t reach for him. 

He thinks of the cannibal’s sharp teeth; biting, tugging. He thinks of biting back. 

Hannibal carries him to bed and lies down next to him, facing the opposite direction. As the wall is suddenly interesting. Will can’t bring himself to do the same. Not tonight. They’ve killed, tonight. It was _different_ , too. Will’s eyes linger on the other’s back, wishing they had a smaller bed.

Will tries to reach out to him but feels the pull of stitches stopping him from rising his left arm. He curses, Hannibal turns around. He doesn’t smile with his mouth, but his eyes have a glint to them. 

Will wants to–

He wants to _bite_ him. 

  
Hannibal is quick to reproach him for moving, placing his right arm over his left, securing him in place. Will can’t pull himself up, he can’t push himself forward, he can’t force Hannibal _closer_. 

Hannibal doesn’t move his arm for some time. When Will thinks the moment’s passed, Hannibal traces his hand up and down Will’s arm, then up to Will’s shoulder. 

Will closes his eyes as Hannibal brings his hand down to his arm again. He brings it up, now having it reach a tickly spot at the base of his neck, a small smile slips through Will’s face. Hannibal’s hand settles on his elbow, making tender circles with his thumb. 

Will finds he can bend his arm to meet Hannibal’s elbow. It’s softer than his own, though that fails to surprise him. He traces stars on it, the only way he knows how.

/\\\–/ His fingers trace, over and over and over. 

Will opens his eyes. 

Hannibal is looking attentively, he is closer than Will expected him to be, but not close enough to bite. 

Will blinks, Hannibal does, too. The air feels heavy as Hannibal’s hand moves up once again, all the way up to his ear, where the older man toys with his lobe, delicately twisting the skin. Will breaks eye contact to look at his hand, Hannibal’s eyes leave Will’s face to rest on his ear. 

“Are you cold, Will?” 

Will doesn’t answer immediately; he is busy trying not to lean into the other’s hand. “Yes.” He replies. The first thing he said should’ve been thank you, he thinks. 

“You are experiencing hypovolemic shock,” Hannibal explains. Will had figured, it was a lot of blood. 

Will’s other hand traces an old stab wound in his stomach. “Am I blue?” He asks, his eyes rest on the other’s face, but Hannibal doesn’t look back. 

Hannibal smiles as he shakes his head, and moves Will’s hair out of his face again. He is sweating a lot, enough that his hair stays in place. Hannibal’s hand is damp and warm when it finds its place cupping his face.

Will’s eyes study Hannibal. He was so vicious when they hunted. So bloody, so beautiful. Will wanted to bite him then, too. “You just need rest,” Hannibal reassures. Will doesn’t know how he will manage. He _is_ fatigued. But he’s never been able to fall asleep before Hannibal does. Instinct. 

Hannibal’s palm runs across Will’s scruffy beard. Will tries to bite his index. He’s too slow, everything looks slow. He can see his reflection in Hannibal’s eyes as he fails. He can see Hanibal’s pupils dilate, taken aback by Will’s hunger. 

He knows Hannibal is curious, even in this state Will finds himself reading him. Hannibal places the same finger on his forehead. He traces his scar, he traces the bridge of his nose, his cupid's bow, before flicking his bottom lip. Will doesn’t respond to provocation, not unless he thinks he can get something from it. 

He is hazy, not delusional. 

Hannibal pulls up the covers, making sure Will is in a comfortable position. He turns off the light, turning back to face the wall. 

“Try to remember I need rest, I don’t want to pull the stitches fighting for the covers,” Will says. Hannibal mumbles something incomprehensible back _,_ even though, realistically, he can’t be asleep. 

Time passes, and while it’s still dark, the sound of nature awakening makes Will acknowledge his tiredness. He closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” Will says, because there’s a chance Hannibal is asleep, but also because there’s a chance he’ll turn around again, close enough to bite. 

He gets no response. Will drifts into a dreamless sleep. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
